


Early Mornings in the Magic City

by volleydorkscentral



Series: Just a Taste - [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bokuto's time in Miami, Underage Drinking, side-story to Just a Taste
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 13:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20930819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volleydorkscentral/pseuds/volleydorkscentral
Summary: A side-story for my fic Just a Taste involving a much younger Bokuto from his early years living broke in the city of Miami, FL.





	Early Mornings in the Magic City

**Author's Note:**

> I figured I haven't posted anything in a while so I thought I'd throw this up here. I'm planning a new project for NaNoWriMo so I'll be quiet for a while more, sorry. However, I do still plan to continue with these little side stories, it's just that my brain likes working on new things. 
> 
> This story takes place many years before JaT when Bokuto was just starting out his kitchen career.

Bokuto lay half asleep at the table tucked in the furthest corner of the bar. It was almost sunrise, going by the state of his dead phone and the cluster of empty beer bottles on the table in front of him. He was mustering up the energy to walk home, hoping to avoid the judgmental eyes of his roommate, and _maybe_ take a shower before collapsing into bed. That seemed like too much work and effort, so he kept his head on his arms and hoped he wouldn't drool too much on the table. 

“You doin’ alright, hun?”

He managed to raise his face, and the girl over him smiled sweetly, picking up the empty bottles and setting them on her tray. "Long night," he told her, fumbling for his wallet and mumbling under his breath as he tried to count out the appropriate amount plus tip. He couldn't quite manage it; his brain was horrible with numbers in the best of times, and miserable with them when he was drunk, so ended up just handing her a large wad of bills.

She raised an eyebrow at him, slipping the money the waist pocket of her apron. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling, waving a hand. "Just gotta…"

When he didn't finish, she patted his arm. "Take it one day at a time, now, m'kay?"

"M'kay," he echoed. He'd seen the girl many times since he was a regular at the bar, but she didn't wear a name tag, and by now he thought it was too long past to ask for her name like a normal human being when they found another human attractive. Technically, he wasn't even allowed in the bar, he was only nineteen (almost twenty), but the bar wasn’t in the best shape, it wasn't in the best part of Miami, and he usually drank enough anyway for the manager to look the other way. The kitchen position he was in now was in an even worse part of town, with shittier people, and he spent twelve hours a day in a wet, steaming Hellscape making almost no money and being verbally (and sometimes physically) abused by his coworkers in the kitchen. So he deserved a goddamn drink.

When the girl walked away, he dropped his head on the table again, thinking that he'd have to go soon. He needed a minimum of three hours of sleep. But more would be better. He closed his eyes, though, wondering if the walk home would be worth it and if he should just rent a room at the decrepit motel across the street.

He listened half-heartedly as the girl closed out tabs with her other tables, then chatted with her friend at the bar as she prepared to leave for the day, then the jingle of her keys and the slam of the door as she let it close behind her. The table closest to him creaked as the occupants, three guys who looked like they could go to prison and be happily at home, stood and made their way towards the door.

He overheard one of them say: "…in the alley. She passes that way. If we hurry, we can…"

He looked up, resting his chin on the table and following them with his eyes as they left out the front door. He wasn't tired now. He stood hurriedly, tripped over his own feet, and caught himself on the edge of the table, swearing, and rushed out behind the three men. They were halfway down the block by the time he stumbled out of the bar; he followed them, unsure exactly what he was going to do, but knowing he wasn't going to do nothing. At nineteen he wasn't small, he was tall for his age, and had played sports in high school, so he wasn't out of shape either—but at least two of the men looked like they either boxed or lifted weights for a living, so he was pretty sure he was about to get his ass beat.

He stumbled a bit in his rush to get close, having to reach out and catch himself on the wall. “Hey!” he shouted, hoping he didn't sound as drunk as he felt.

The men turned and Bokuto could see their ringleader standing dangerously close to the girl, one hand on the wall over her head. She stared wide-eyed at him, glancing at Bokuto, shrinking away from the man.

The man sneered at him. “Go away, kid. This ain’t none of your business.”

Bokuto raised his chin, trying to look brave and intimidating. “You made it my business when you decided to be a dick to this sweet girl.” He took a few steps forward, clenching his fists. The adrenaline of a fight to come made his head spin.

Their attention on him was what gave the girl the time she needed to pull her purse around and slip her hand inside carefully. Suddenly she shrieked and threw her hand up, spraying the man in the face with something—probably Mace. He reeled back, shouting in hurt shock, and she ducked under his arm, bolting away down the alley.

“You—” the man shouted, rubbing at his face. “You _bitch_!” He turned to watch her go then whipped around to glower at Bokuto, his eyes red and swollen. Bokuto took a step back, but the man pointed at him. “You asshole!” At this, the other two men grabbed at him. Bokuto reeled away, slamming a fist into the man on the left and throwing him into the building. The other man jerked at his collar, making his drunken brain slide into his skull, and the world went spinning under him. He was held up by the man, who twisted his arm painfully behind him as the other man stood and grabbed his other arm. He struggled, yanking and swearing at them until his arm was wrenched so far back he felt something pop in his shoulder.

The first man, still wiping at his eyes, glowered. He stormed forward and bashed his fist into Bokuto’s face. Pain arched across his cheek, red spots blossomed behind his eyes, the taste of iron and copper flooding his mouth as blood spilled from his split cheek. 

“You shit,” the man snarled, “I’ll fucking—”

Bokuto spat a mouthful of blood into his face.

What followed was nothing short of an ass-whooping. The two men held Bokuto's arms while the first one beat on him, first his face, then his stomach, and when his legs collapsed, all three men began kicking at him. He curled up into a ball, hoping to protect himself, covering his face with his arms and hoping not to lose any teeth or internal organs. Suddenly a siren screamed high and loud, and blue light flashed across his vision.

“Shit,” one of the men said, and the three of them ran off as a woman’s voice came closer.

Bokuto thought this gutter was a good a place as any to sleep if he could. Maybe the pain would go away when he woke up.

“Oh my god!” It was the girl from the bar, suddenly leaning over him and touching his arm. “Are you okay?”

Bokuto moaned softly, uncurling a bit and letting her help him sit up. His face felt puffy. Blood pooled in his mouth—he swallowed it so he wouldn’t drool blood all over his chin.

The girl touched his cheek, turning his face up so she could peer at him. “Jesus, look at you,” she said softly. “You saved me… thank you.”

He shrugged, wincing when it hurt his shoulder. “Guys shouldn’t have done that…”

Another man came over, wearing a dark blue uniform that Bokuto recognized as the local police uniform. “They got away, sorry. But we’ll get your descriptions and put out a report.”

The girl nodded, then she said to Bokuto, “We need to get you to a hospital.”

He tried to laugh. “I can’t—”

“Nonsense,” she said quickly. “Come on. Dicky, help me get him up.”

The man came forward, reaching down to put his hands under Bokuto’s arm, helping him to his feet. “I told you not to call me that.”

Bokuto glanced between them, trying to protest again that he really didn’t need to go to the hospital (really, he couldn’t afford it—and he _really really_ needed sleep) but the girl insisted, loudly, and pulled him to the police car. She slid into the backseat with him and leaned close as the car began to move. She took his face in her hands, giving him a studious once over. Her fingers were cool and gentle, pulling at his eyelids and checking his eyes.

“What’re you doin’?” he mumbled, feeling queasy as the car drove.

“I’m checking you for signs of a concussion,” she said. “God—I hope you don’t have internal bleeding. I feel so awful.”

He shook his head, then moaned as the motion sent the world into a tailspin. "Don't… not your fault. Those assholes…" He could hear his accent making the vowels twice as long as they needed to be. He really wanted to sleep.

She was quiet, one hand on his arm, fingers feeling for the pulse in his wrist. "I'm Jenny, by the way. I can't thank you enough…"

“Mhm. It’s alrigh’… happy to do it.”

"Almost there," the policeman—Dicky?—said from the front seat. Jenny thanked him and took out her phone, beginning to type furiously.

Bokuto mumbled, leaning his head back and trying not to throw up as more blood fell down his throat.

After several long minutes of silence, the car stopped, and Jenny helped him out, keeping a hand on his arm to try and keep him steady as they walked into the hospital. It was a good thing he could walk on his own because he didn't think this girl could hold him up if he incapable of walking. She didn't even go to the front desk but went straight through to a small exam room. "Just a second," she told him, "my friend's on his way back."

He gave her a confused look, and she explained, "I'm in school to be a paramedic. I've got a few friends here, and I called in a favor to get you seen as soon as possible. It's literally the least I could do."

“Oh,” he managed. “Thank you.”

She reached over, smiling, and took his hand. “You were very brave.”

“It’s not bravery… it’s just right. People shouldn't prey on … others." His words came out fuzzy and wet sounding, and she winced in sympathy. 

“You’re sweet,” she said, smiling.

The door opened, and a male nurse in green scrubs came in with a tray of medical supplies. "Hey, Jen. Oh, dude, what happened to you?"

Bokuto tried to smile, then grimaced as fresh blood dripped down his chin from his split lip. “Got my ass handed to me.”

“He was protecting me,” Jenny said, standing to give the nurse some room. “I want to check for internal bleeding and a concussion.”

The nurse nodded. "Yeah, clearly." He looked over Bokuto, saying, "Well, you'll definitely need stitches for these two cuts. Any teeth feel loose? How's your vision? Could you lift your shirt for me?"

“Uh,” Bokuto mumbled. “Feel a little dizzy. Little blurry around the edges… but mostly fine.” The man peered at the dark bruises forming on his stomach and chest and back, prodding him with his fingers and asking if certain places hurt or felt worse than a simple bruise. Nothing did, and after several more questions and Bokuto’s adamant denial of a CT scan, the nurse decided that he probably didn’t have internal bleeding, just several hellish bruises.

"We should do a scan," Jenny said worriedly.

Bokuto forced a laugh. “I can’t afford it… really. If I get any other… uh, symptoms, I’ll come back. Promise.”

She gave him a frowning, concerned look but sighed. "Yeah… I get that. Just promise me you'll be careful?"

"We'll send you home with some pain meds and information on concussions and stuff," the nurse told him. "You'll need to stay for a few hours here, but I think you'll be okay. We want to make sure." He reached back to get what was essentially a squirt bottle and began to clean the cut above Bokuto's eyebrow. The fluid stung a bit, but Bokuto did his best not to pull away.

“You ever got stitches before?” The nurse asked as he pulled the tray closer, picking up instruments and long, black thread.

Bokuto’s face must have given away that, as a matter of fact, he hadn’t, and Jenny came to stand beside him, taking this hand.

“It’ll be okay,” she said gently. “Mark’s good at this.”

She squeezed his hand, and, against all reason, Bokuto felt comforted. Mark the nurse leaned forward and laid a hand on his head to steady him as he began to stitch the wounds closed. It wasn't as bad as Bokuto thought it would be—not until he stitched his lip closed. That fucking hurt.

Jenny talked to him through the whole process, telling him about how she was working at the bar to get through school, even though she'd be in debt for years, but helping and healing people was what she'd always wanted to do ever since she was a little girl. She told him about the dog she'd adopted and then worried for a few minutes about how he was doing without her, then her plans for when she left school and passed her EMT exam. She explained that after she'd sprayed that man with Mace, she'd run down the street and called her brother, who was a police officer, and he happened to be on duty just down the road. So she told him to rush over, and they'd chased off the abusers. “His real name is Richard, but I call him Dicky just to piss him off.”

When Mark finished with the stitches, he gave Bokuto some Tylenol and anti-nausea medication, told him to sit tight for a bit, and he'd be back later to see how he was doing.

Bokuto leaned back against the chair, his eyes closing halfway. Jenny patted his shoulder, then gasped when he flinched.

“Oh, I’m sorry. How’s your shoulder?”

“Painful,” he said truthfully, grinning.

“The Tylenol should help…”

Bokuto nodded, leaning against the side of the chair. "You don't have to stay; you can go—take care of your dog. He must be hungry and lonely and worried about you." He smiled, telling her that he was fine with her leaving.

She shifted, rubbing her hands together. “You sure? I feel like I should stay with you…”

“I’ll be okay. I need to try and sleep, anyway. Rest the brain and all that.”

“Ah… right. Well…” She hesitated, then dug out an old receipt and scribbled on it. “This is my number. You call me when you feel better. Maybe we can go to, I dunno, dinner or coffee?”

Bokuto took the paper, smiling at the numbers. It hurt his lip, but it didn’t matter. “I like dinner _and_ coffee."

She grinned back at him, leaning down to kiss his cheek carefully. "I look forward to it. Goodbye, my hero, I hope to hear from you soon."

As she left, he stared at her number and tried to memorize it, since he was notorious for losing small pieces of paper. He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes, hoping he could doze without falling out of the chair. Work tomorrow would be hell, his body was killing him, his head was pounding, his vision was a bit fuzzy, but he’d found a beautiful woman who was interested in talking to him and getting _coffee. _Today was a _good day._

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone wondering, yes, that is the girl that he dated for a while and proposed to and then left the city because of.


End file.
